Stale Mike 'n Ikes

I've gone off about how depressingly horrid our station's break room fridge is.  Really.  Stand a few hundred yards down the hall, and the smell may make you lose the will to live.

But, recently I began cleaning out my reporter *work space* for the BIG MOVE.  Down two cubicles. (Boss wants to rearrange the newsroom. And, in the spirit of that teacher who made you sit boy/girl/boy/girl in math class, he wrote up a new seating chart.)

Anyway, as I was knee deep in what seemed to be a dumpster dive, I fancied myself a bit hypocritical.  If I'm going to dog that hot mess of a fridge in the break room, I best be honest with my own *situation*.

It is my own Feng Shui festival of pack rat shame.

Things you may not see buried in the pile-o-crap:

*half-eaten, week-old bag of Mike 'n Ikes
*7 pairs of shoes.  (3 heels, 2 boots, 2 flip flops)
*3 boxes of Girl Scout Cookies
*Bill Self fan (he makes me smile)
*baseball, soccer ball, frisbee, yo-yo (don't ask)
*Spoon, knife, fork (nearly enough place settings for a dinner party)
*2 shirts, jeans, socks, 3 scarves, 5 gloves (non of which match)
*nail polish, two bottles of black sparkle (I don't wear nail polish)
*black light (for a story. Really.)
*natural gas pipes (also for a story, or just in case someone needs to be put in their place)
*something sticky in the middle drawer
*you get the idea.